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Now the playground was empty. Soon, though, the sun would rise, and they would come. The young girls with their soft bodies and beguiling eyes. They were youth; they were life. And he’d taken what they offered, drawing their essence in, capturing their light.
He realized now what a fool he had been.
It was their blood that was key. He should have consumed it, not merely drained it. Taking their life gave satisfaction, but only by taking their blood would he rise up. Would he become. Would he be freed of earthly bonds.
A god.
Without the blood, he couldn’t rise like the Dark Angel who had swooped in to rescue him. Who had delivered him from the fools who had sought to confine him, to constrain his gifts.
He breathed in deep of the chill night air, remembering the way she had burst into the van as the second guard had been about to lock the door. She’d moved with inhuman speed, so fast that the guard never even had time to reach for his weapon. With one bold stroke, she’d tumbled him to the ground, moving so fast Xavier hadn’t even seen her fall upon him. Hadn’t seen her sink her teeth into the guard’s neck.
He’d seen only the result—the guard, dead on the van’s floorboard, and the blood on her mouth as she’d smiled at him over the body, her eyes soft and sultry, her grin wicked.
The first guard—the driver—never came, and Xavier assumed she’d taken care of him first. Left him collapsed over the steering wheel, his neck gaping open, his life now in her belly.
She’d crawled toward him, a lioness hunting her prey, and for a moment he’d felt the cold pangs of fear. For a moment, he’d understood why the girls had cried out. They hadn’t understood what he’d wanted from them, and they’d been afraid. Afraid as he was, even then.
Like his little girls, though, his fear was misplaced. She sought not to take his life, but to raise him to a higher level. She saw the depths of him, she said. Saw his great potential, and promised him not death, but everlasting life. Life, power, light.
Draw the light, draw the blood, and feed the angel.
She’d explained it all so beautifully. And now he knew what he had to do.
Now he knew the true nature of his work.
Satisfy the angel—do her bidding—and she would render upon him the glory of the world.
He spread his arms, embracing the night and imagining the satisfaction of the coming days.
He had freedom. He had life.
And he had purpose.
Xavier Stemmons was a man with renewed vision.
Free, and ready to drink deep of the light of youth.
* * *
Luke steered the BMW with his knee as he rummaged futilely in the glove box, cursing Nick for not keeping even a pint of goddamn synthetic in the car.
Frustrated, he sat upright, his stomach clenching with the hunger, his blood burning with need. The fight with Hasik and Tinsley had sapped his strength, and he was cursing his lack of foresight. The serpent stirred more when the hunger was upon him, and without the strength to fight, it would rise and stretch and come out to play.
No.
With a low growl, he clutched the steering wheel and concentrated on driving. The more focused he kept his mind, the less his physical needs would intrude.
He saw the exit for downtown in the distance and crossed neatly over three lanes of traffic. Even at midnight, the traffic was dense, especially on a Friday, when the humans who lived mostly during the day came out to join all the creatures of the night.
He parked on the street across from Sara’s building, then looked up, easily finding her balcony on the twenty-fifth floor. Were it not for the bands on his arm, he could have transformed, then arrived at her balcony door on windswept wings. Quick, simple, clean—and utterly impossible given his present circumstances.
Which left him to more mundane, human-oriented methods. Like the elevator. He would be revealed on the building’s security footage, but that was a risk he would have to take. If all went as planned, Sara would be firmly aligned with him, and there would never be a need to pull the footage.
He moved toward the entrance, then stopped as the elevator doors within the lobby slid open. With a small hiss, he stepped back, his eyes fixed not on the faces of the pair now leaving the elevator, but on the badges clipped to their shirts.
Division 6—Security Section.
Damn.
